Miseryland (One More Day)
by Skade
Summary: Songfic to Fisher's ''Miseryland''. Sequel to ''True North'', read it first before attempting this. It's a story of how a little note in an innocent looking bottle can turn a girl's life all tipsy-turvey... A lot less angsty than the title implies.


Untitled Document

**Miseryland  
(One More Day)**

Sequel to _True North_

=-=-=__

_I learned to fly  
But you  
You ran to find the gun  
To shoot me down  
Before I got too high_

It's a joke, right? A joke. It has too be, of course. How stupid of me, I've fallen for one of Ron's stupid jokes. Ha, ha, ha, Ron.

Wait a second, I thought. This can't be Ron. He can't even speak... _his_... name aloud, much less write it in full calligraphy swirls. Harry, maybe? No, Harry wouldn't either... Draco being a Malfoy was too loyal... Oh great, Hermione. You've run out of people to blame. That was all I could think. It paralyzed me that this could be real.

_'Cause you could not stand  
To stand  
Alone in a long line  
For your wild ride  
It requires two lost souls per seat  
At least Five Foot Five_

So. Given no evidence otherwise, logically I was forced into assuming the letter was real. About five seconds later I rushed into the bathroom, hand over my mouth.

A murderer loved me. A dark magic wielding, wrathful, madman of a murderer had fallen head-over-heels for _me_. It was flattering and yet disgusting at the same time, especially when a pathetic little voice spoke up in my head. _There must be dozens of concubines that'd loooove to be in your position, I'll bet, Hermione!_ No use for it, really. I gagged again.

_And I don't wanna go  
For a ride  
Down to Miseryland  
Trapped with you  
By my side  
Down in Miseryland_

He loved me, did he? I could tell by his tone in the writing that he was sincere. I stamped back into my room, queasiness gone with rage. So he _loved me, _did he? I picked up my quill, spreading out a piece of parchment, and dipped the goosefeather in my bottle of red ink.

So he loved me, _did he_? Then I'll just have to break his little heart.

_Up in the air  
You wave   
Two tickets for my utter amusement  
You posess  
An express pass to unhapiness  
That makes you feel alive?_

I had never put that much of my rage into a letter before. It was all there, the anger, making my words like flames. I wanted this to be the ultimate thrust with a double bladed sword.

I attacked every aspect of his personality with a paragraph. I called him a traitor. I called him a beast. And worse.

_And I don't have a place anymore  
Down in Miseryland  
Trapped with you forevermore  
Is not what I have planned  
So take a seat by yourself  
And wait to fall a hundred stories_

I continued my verbal mauling. Determined to make whatever part of his soul this had come from into a bloody, bleeding pulp, I wrote onwards. My words were going to kill him and I liked it that way.

_Better hold on tight  
Hands inside the ride  
Don't forget to breathe_

The bottle was still drenched in returning spells. I shoved the rolled up parchment down into the green glass and nearly cracked the neck forcing the cork in.

Aunt Arabella, whom I was staying with, always was fond of balconies overlooking the sea cliffs. With a heave I chucked the bottle as far as I could...

_No I don't wanna go  
For a ride  
Down to miseryland  
Trapped with you by my side  
Down in misery..._

I turned a swift heel back into my room and read the letter again as I massaged my temples. All of this had given me a headache. As I took the time to go farther into his words, I noticed something.

I knew he had been in hiding for about three months, and the stress nearly bleeded from the words. The man sounded desperate... almost...

Suicidal.

Ooops.

I flew down the stairs, glad I was wearing my swimsuit. Not saying I wouldn't really mind his blood on my hands, but still, it's a person's death I happen to be responsible for. Besides, it also would be a terribly embarrassing problem to go to my psychiatrist with.

_I learned to fly  
But you are still shooting  
The sky  
Still shooting_

Within fifteen minutes I had climbed back up the stairs to the guest room I inhabited, soaking wet, even more miffed, but with the bottle firmly clamped in my hand.

I got the piece of parchment out of the bottle and threw it on the fire. That's all I really cared at that moment, because after that it was a warm shower and warm pyjamas and bed. The sea green glass container was sitting quite patiently on my desk.

It could wait one more day, I thought to myself. He can wait one more day if he's waited this long.

-=-=-=-

AN:

**The song is, of course, **by Fisher. It's (as the title implies) from the song "Miseryland", off the alblum _True North_. Again, go buy and make Fisher rich and happy so she'll put out more CDs and bump the boybands from the radio! Yeahh!

**A great and hearty **thank you to those of you that reviewed _True North_! That would, of course, be these wonderful people: Mistaria (whodathunk indeed?); Trin (yay! I'm not alone! And yes, I'm trying to write more H/V); Pipsqueek (I wrote more. You'll read more?); Gileonnen (thank you for the wonderful flattery! Yes, it is a bit of a strech, but I'll hopefully explain later - this should be a bit more realist); Davita (that's on cue for the rest of the series... and always remember, there's more than one side to every person); Catriona Snape (and yes, _pleeeease_ write me soon, I'm getting lonely! All of my pet rats are dying on me! *sob* Okay, only two, but that's still a lot in rattyness...)

See what you get if you review?! ^_^ Don't you want to go review...

Now?


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